


Beauty and the Beast

by Kitty_Redheart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is his own warning, Not the typical Sansa/Tyrion fic, what a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Redheart/pseuds/Kitty_Redheart
Summary: Cersei Lannister has neutralized the Stark threat to her reign. The children, scattered throughout the world pose no threat to her, or so she believed.Daenerys and her armies have just arrived in Westeros, seeking allies and planning her attack to seize the throne. However, when her Hand is captured by a local monster, her plans must change.Tyrion is plotting his escape so that he may return to his post as Hand to the Queen. But his captor is so very interesting.And Sansa? Sansa is watching her fate draw ever closer with each fallen petal. For who could ever love a beast?





	1. The Curse

“Once upon a time, their lived a lord and lady. They were gentle-hearted, and their people prospered under their rule,” Old Nan intoned, gnarled old fingers working deftly at her knitting.

“Boring!” interrupted Arya, “I want bloodshed and gore, Nan! Men being split open, and chopped in half! Not this old story again.”

Old Nan tilted her head and sighed at the young girl sitting before her on the large grey and blue rug. “One may not appreciate all my stories, but they do have lessons for impatient little girls.”

“Please, Nan, continue. What happened to the lord and lady?” Sansa asked, eyes practically sparkling. Arya looked over at her sister in disgust. They had heard this sappy tale about how the lord forgot the lady and she won back his heart plenty of times. It wasn’t news to either of them.

When Old Nan started on listing the things the lady did to win back her lord, Bran and Rickon both groaned and pretended to retch. Sansa glared at them and turned back to listen to the story.

This was a typical evening scene for the young Stark children. All six of them would hole up in the room with the great big fireplace and small windows to listen to Old Nan’s tales. Some were scary, ad others were romantic. The boys and Arya far preferred the terrifying stories of old about White Walkers and witches. Sansa was the only one to prefer the romance of lords and ladies. She lamented that she was the only civilized and intelligent Stark child who paid attention to the important lessons Old Nan taught them about manners and honor and poise.

“And then, when she thought that her lord had left her for the world he did not remember, he came back,” Old Nan said with a sly smile. Arya groaned.

“Why would he do that? She was holding him prisoner basically! He should’ve gone to explore the world!” Arya exclaimed, banging her small fists against the floor. Jon snickered at her antics over a simple story, no matter what Arya said she always listened attentively. Jon ruffled her hair playfully before Arya, shrieking, tackled him to the floor.

“Because he ended up loving her all over again, sweetling,” Ned Stark’s voice rang out above the cacophony of squeals and laughter. All heads turned to see their father and mother standing in the doorway, arms linked. He patted Catelyn’s hand with a soft smile on his face, and Sansa thought that was the look of a man who knew what love was.

“It’s still stupid,” Arya said petulantly. “I’d have gone to see the world with or without her.”

“You just wait and see, my ferocious little wolf,” Catelyn said with a crooked smile quirking her lips. “You may one day feel differently.”

“Horseshit!” Arya exclaimed, and despite the disapproving look from Catelyn, Ned Stark broke out into laughter and soon his children followed.

“Alright my pack of rowdy wolf cubs. Off to bed. A storm is on the horizon and we must ensure we are prepared,” Ned said. As the children left the room, Ned kissed each of their heads, avoiding the scowl that Catelyn sent his way when he kissed Jon’s.

Winterfell was enjoying peace between the minor lords, and winter was coming. The merriment in his home warmed Ned’s heart, but he knew they had their work cut out for them this winter.

* * *

 

It was after the storm had passed, that Sansa found herself in the Great Hall sharing a merry feast with the castle’s residents. From the stable-hands to the scullery maids, everyone who was employed to Ned Stark was present and happy. They had all weathered the long storm for a month and a half, and when the icy winds had stopped blowing, they had cleared away the four feet of snow quickly. The weather was warming slowly but surely, and the crops they had stored would last until spring. This was a happy occasion, but Sansa couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss.

She watched as Robb, Theon, and Jon whirled around ladies of all statuses, laughing and stealing kisses on their cheeks. Arya was practically standing on a table regaling a story of a fearsome knight to many older burly drunk men. Bran and Rickon were racing about between people’s legs and skirts stealing sweets. Her parents were sat at the high table observing and whispering conspiratorially, but happily. Sansa wondered if they were making wedding plans for her brothers. Sansa sighed happily as she walked along the edge of the dance floor, nodding and curtseying to everyone. It was when she had kissed Old Nan’s head that a steely cold gush of wind swept into the hall, whisking out many candles.

Sansa turned as the two large doors at the main entrance creaked open, and a man dressed in a heavy brown cloak strode in. A Hood covered his face from view, but he brought a chill as cold as death with him. He looked around at the silenced gathering, and removed his hood. A man with small dark eyes and grey wispy hair appeared with a sickly sweet smile.

“My Lord Stark, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” he said. His voice carried over the stones like a song with an innocence that was anything but. Ned stood and glared down the intruder, one hand on the great sword Ice.

“Who goes there? What business do you have in Winterfell, stranger? Ned demanded. Sansa couldn’t help the swell of pride she felt for her father that overcame her fear of this new man.

“I am Qyburn. A humble servant of the Realm,” the man bowed. He glanced up, and small flames flickered off his teeth as he smiled. “And on a mission from the Crown.”

Without waiting for a reply, Qyburn straightened and whipped his cloak around him. In that instant, the people except for the Stark family had vanished. Sansa’s stomach dropped, and her mouth ran dry.

“What do you want, witch?” Ned demanded, withdrawing Ice and leaping over the high table to face the witch. Qyburn smiled serenely.

“Merely the peace that my Queen has asked for,” Qyburn said. He raised his palms and two pillars of ice shot out toward Lord and Lady Stark. Sansa flinched and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Father!” Arya screeched, and Sansa looked to see both her parents frozen in huge blocks of ice. Qyburn turned to the boys who were grabbing any type of knife they could.

“Oh, now, now, little wolf cubs. This will all be over in a second. I’ll send you all far away from this place with no memories of this ever happening,” Qyburn said, waving his hands in a gesture like he was approaching a spooked horse. Sansa lunged for Arya as her sister made to attack the witch. She held her back with all her might as Qyburn made their brothers disappear.

“No! Sansa! Let me go!” Arya struggled against her as Qyburn turned toward them.

“Well, darlings. I do believe you have a choice. I can treat you like your brothers and erase your memories, or you can stay here, hidden from the world,” Qyburn approached them. Arya broke free of Sansa’s grasp and glared at her sister for a moment before turning her attention to Qyburn. She flexed her jaw.

“One day, I’ll kill you. You’ll wish you had never attacked the Starks. Send me away, but remember: Winter is coming,” Arya said defiantly, before she disappeared in the blink of an eye. Qyburn smiled at Sansa, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up under his slimy gaze. She couldn’t leave her home. She couldn’t abandon her parents in a state like this. There must always be a stark in Winterfell. Sansa took a deep breath.

“I’ll stay.”

“Very well, little cub. But that comes with a price, no one must recognize you outside of the walls of Winterfell. Everyone will forget the existence of this castle, and few will ever happen upon it,” Qyburn was suddenly right in front of her eyes. She stared at him as unshed tears stung her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip to stop them.

“However, no curse is perfect, and this one requires me to tell you the requirements to break it,” Qyburn frowned in distaste. A flame burst to life in his hand, and a rose with petals as bright as fire appeared. He handed it to her. “In order to break this curse on your family, before the last petal on this rose falls, the Queen must be defeated, and you must find true love.”

Sansa’s eyes left the fiery rose in her hand as she stared angrily up at Qyburn. If she must get revenge, so be it. She would do it.

“If any of your family should remember this place, they will be barred from reentry until the curse is lifted,” Qyburn added as he stepped toward the doors. Before he left the room he looked over his shoulder and smiled.

“But you will never break this curse,” he snickered. Sansa felt her muscles tense in anger and worry. “For who could ever love a beast?”


	2. Life Begins Again

Sansa barely registered the doors slamming shut and the candles relighting as a searing pain danced along her skin. She felt like she was being ripped apart, her throat raw from screaming, and eyes dry from salty tears. When she regained her composure after what felt like an eternity, she dragged herself toward a table. She grabbed a silver serving plate and dragged it toward her. She tilted it to the light and screamed as she saw her reflection.

Sansa threw the dish away and stared down at her arms in horror. They were covered in thick auburn fur, and her hands were scaly and had long claws for nails. She felt her face to confirm, the wolfish snout and sharp teeth, the scales over her brow, the dark mane of hair and her ears, pointed at the tips. Her torso was longer and broader, her dressed ripped to shreds. She was covered in fur, and her legs extended much farther than they had originally as she tried to stand on what she could only call paws. She stopped and looked behind her at the tail bristled in alarm. Sansa was shaky with repulsion. She howled in agony at the loss of her family, her household, her body, and her freedom.

* * *

 

Cersei sat on a window ledge, sipping her wine. The weather was pleasantly warm, and her long blonde locks flowed down her back in graceful waves. She turned her head and smiled as Qyburn entered her solar.

“Your Grace,” he bowed deeply before continuing into the room. “It has been done. The family is scattered with no memories of their previous life. The Lord and Lady Stark are frozen solid in unbreakable ice.”

Cersei took a long dreg of her wine. She looked upon her witch and advisor with apprehension. “Where did you send the children?”

“Magic is tricky like that, your Grace. I had no control. To my best knowledge, two across the Narrow Sea to Essos, two beyond the Wall in the North, and one to Dorne,” Qyburn reported. Cersei eyed him unhappily.

“And the last one? What happened to it?” she hissed. She stood and strode to her desk. Qyburn followed and stood opposite her as she sat down.

“The eldest daughter decided to stay with her parents in the now forgotten castle. No one will ever be able to recognize her, she has been transformed into a monstrosity from the tales of old,” Qyburn smiled wickedly. Cersei eyed him before nodding.

“Well, as long as that is taken care of, let us deal with the threat of Stannis Baratheon and the Targaryen girl. My monster of a little brother has joined her forces, I hear. I’ll murder him for escaping justice for our father’s death,” Cersei said darkly. Qyburn bowed and smiled sweetly.

“Of course, whatever your Grace demands I will do my utmost to accomplish.”

* * *

 

In five separate corners of the known world, five siblings found themselves in strange places. They found they knew the languages spoken, and their first names—but nothing else. They drifted to different directions for survival. The girl to the House of Black and White, the bastard to Meereen, the eldest to a noble Dornish house, the youngest to the Wildings beyond the Wall, and the seer to the Three-Eyed Raven. Unbeknownst to them all as they got their footing, their other sister suffered alone in self-hatred and anger at home with their frozen parents.

Six years have passed without major incident. Arya was truly one of the best faceless men the city of Braavos had ever produced. Jon had squirreled his way into favor with Daenerys Targaryen and her Hand, Tyrion Lannister. Robb had formed a powerful alliance with the houses of the ungoverned Northmen and Dorne, a tricky feat with the Baratheon forces separating them. Rickon was growing into a fearsome Wilding youth, skillful at all things related to archery and daggers. Bran was learning to control his visions and read the past and events of the present. They were all growing.

Sansa, looked out at the perpetually white landscape that surrounded the castle of Winterfell for ten miles.  She often came to stand on the armaments to look at the barrier that kept the world away from her castle. She could leave and hunt for food and steal grain when needed, but her household servants were not allowed to leave the premises. They were bound to the castle by magic, turned into silverware and walking, talking armor. Sansa was grateful she wasn’t completely alone.

She had moved her parents down to the crypts. She couldn’t bear to look at their faces. She had placed her rose in a pot in her solar, the petals slowly falling with every supposed change of the season. It was always winter in Winterfell. Her family’s words had rung true, winter had come. And despair had come with it.

* * *

 

“Are you sure that you want to cross the Narrow Sea now, your Grace?” Tyrion said as he waddled over toward Daenerys. She turned her violet gaze toward him. Her face was calm and determined.

“Jon believes that he can broker an alliance with Robb of Dorne. With his forces we can easily overthrow Cersei and her sons and retake the Iron Throne. Why would I put off this opportunity? My children are mostly grown. What is there still to hesitate for?” Daenerys chided him as she stood and approached her balcony. She looked to the sky where Drogon swooped around.

Tyrion huffed and followed her. “I am just being cautious, your Grace. If this is truly what you desire, then we shall sail for Westeros immediately.”

Daenerys looked down at her Hand. She appreciated his insight and how he made her consider her decisions fully. It kept her head firmly on her shoulders and focused on her goal.

“Tell Jon to prepare to set sail on the morrow,” Daenerys said, turning back to face the sky. She could almost taste the victory.

“Yes, your Grace.”

* * *

 

Tyrion wondered why the little town of Winter’s Edge was such an important stronghold for Robb of Dorne—or was it of the North while in the North? The tiny town had no ruling lord, but the large forest that surrounded it provided ample resources and some weak spots that needed to be guarded. He could assume that was why Daenerys had come with her dragons and him and Jon. Robb was due to arrive in Winter’s Edge in about two months. He was held up with smaller battles and unforgiving storms.

In the meantime, Tyrion had become acquainted with the feisty young Lady Mormont. She had been relocated here to make sure their arrival was smooth and that they were well accommodated. She briefed them on the state of the North with an efficiency and poise that went beyond her years. Tyrion admired her sense of honor and her tiny brave bear-heart.

“Do not wander too far into the northern forest. There used to be a godswood in that area, but a troublesome issue has been causing havoc for the local farmers for years. They warn against any people venturing in for their own safety,” Lady Mormont dictated. She spoke harshly, but clearly. Tyrion’s eyebrows rose. He rubbed the bottom of his long scar with his thumb absently.

“Oh?” was all he said.

“What kind of issue?” Daenerys asked. Jon glanced over at Tyrion in question. Lady Mormont shifted, full of angry embarrassment.

“The men report a large hulking beast almost resembling a direwolf roaming the forest. It hunts in the area, and the weapons we have barely poke it. It can be quite destructive, but luckily no one has been injured,” Lady Mormont stared down Daenerys daring her to call her a liar. Daenerys hummed.

“What do you mean by ‘resembling a direwolf’? Is it slightly different?” Tyrion asked. Lady Mormont turned her sharp gaze on him. A little spit-fire she was.

“It is much larger, has a dark red almost black mane, and scales on its head and front feet. They do not exactly resemble claws,” Lady Mormont said. Her hands had squeezed together tightly on the table. Tyrion surmised that it was irritation at having to elaborate or fear from actually witnessing the great beast.

Daenerys frowned. “I do not think it would be a match for dragons, but as there is so much woodland I would hate to burn down the whole area. We must investigate and see if something can be done. Tyrion, Jon. You will go see to the beast and either extinguish the threat or report back to me with your findings.”

Both Tyrion and Jon stood and bowed before leaving the room as Daenerys asked Lady Mormont about grain stores. Tyrion rubbed his face with his hand.

“I may be a demon monkey, but I do not understand why everyone believes that I am so useful in battle when I have so far proven to be helpful in other ways,” Tyrion sighed. Jon chuckled.

“Because as a demon monkey you ward off evil spirits. And monkeys are quite clever and can be vicious if they want,” Jon waggled his eyebrows. Tyrion scoffed. “I’ll go get the horses ready. Go grab your battle axe, demon monkey.”

Tyrion looked up at Jon as they started to go their separate ways. Jon looked over his dark black cloak, black eyes crackling with the sense of adventure. “We’re going hunting for a beast.”

* * *

 

Sansa glowered down at the large hound scratching at its mangled ear. Her tail slapped at the ground in agitation. “Well?” she growled, one sharp canine poking over her lower maw. The hound merely looked up with a snuffle before standing up.

“I told you, little dove. There’re dragons in the sky, and I ain’t going anywhere near that shitfire,” the Hound spat. Sandor Clegane had always been rude and spiteful, but he’d cared for Sansa in other ways. One was by going on hunts with her in the forest. He could leave the castle premises for some reason. Possibly because he was not a part of her household. Magic wasn’t perfect was what the witch had said.

“I’m not a dove. I am a beast, and if they aren’t spewing fire, then why are you banning me from going out past the snowbanks? We both know what happened when I was cooped up in my rooms. The claw marks are still on the walls,” Sansa huffed. The Hound snarled and turned to leave.

“I can’t stop you, unruly beast,” he stomped away. Sansa grimaced at his name-calling and bounded off toward the woods. She hoped the dark-haired farmer was out today. He always reminded her of Jon and Robb. Sansa got very little enjoyment out of her days. She could barely knit with her huge clumsy paws, and she’d read almost every book in the library—twice. She enjoyed watching the people. They reminded her of her own humanity. She had made herself a dark green tunic and black trousers out of old cloths her mother had stowed away. She had a long black cloak as well that she had fashioned from old horse blankets. She had set the horses free years ago. They no longer needed them.

As she wound her way through the familiar woods her ears perked up at the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crinkling underfoot of animals nearby. Deer, wolves, and other woodland animals were common, and Sansa paid them no mind as she found her usual haunt behind two large boulders overlooking the outskirts of four tiny farms. No one was out yet, and she decided to wait.

Sansa was just dozing off when a sharp snap brought her back to reality, adrenaline already rushing in her blood. That sound was too close for comfort. She swiveled her head slightly from side to side trying to determine if she had enough time to run back to Winterfell or whoever was by her would see her no matter what. She glanced to the right, and saw two men on horses walking through the forest with an axe and bows and arrows. Sansa cursed herself internally for her carelessness. She stayed extremely still, hoping they would pass her by and she would remain unnoticed.

“This beast had better be horrifying for all the trouble we’re going through,” the half-man said.

“Don’t get your britches in a twist, Tyrion. It’s probably just a large bear,” the other man replied. Sansa couldn’t breathe. She recognized that hair, and those eyes, that distinctive Stark nose. His voice had reassured her that her eyes were not playing tricks.

Jon. Jon was back at Winterfell. Sansa would not let him leave her alone a second time.


	3. Contact

It happens so fast that Tyrion and Jon have no time to react. The great hulking beast that Lady Mormont had warned them about charges them from the side with a mighty roar that could shake the surroundings it’s so loud.

Tyrion is knocked from his horse, the air leaving his lungs. Just as he’s rolling over to his knees, he hears the fearful whinnying of the horses and Jon’s shouts as he presumably fights off the creature. Tyrion stands and puts an arm on a tree for support as he regains his breath. He turns to see Jon’s sword knocked from his grip, and the man being torn from his horse. Tyrion locates his battle axe and horse, surprisingly not bolting away. She remains shuffling her hooves nervously, but only twenty five feet away. Tyrion runs as best he can towards her, hoping he’ll make it in time.

As he manages to lever himself up on the saddle, out of breath and dizzy, Tyrion sees the beast galloping away with Jon slung over its hulking shoulders like a ragdoll, blood pooling at his hairline. Tyrion snaps the reigns and his horse charges after it.

* * *

 

Sansa can’t breathe she’s so ecstatic. She can’t think of the consequences of her actions, or even if Jon will listen to her. She’s too happy to be reunited with one of her family members. As she bolts inside the castle, she sees an old book wobbling about, and it turns with a disapproving look on its face-like cover.

 “Lady Sansa! What is the meaning of this?” Maester Luwin calls. His old creaky voice carries over the entrance hall, but Sansa just grins at him. Lady Brienne marches in, her joints clanking against each other. The suit of armor is hard to read without a face, but the way her fists snap together tells Sansa she is shocked and ready to fight. Sansa ignores her gathering house servants and begins ascending the staircase to the east wing where Jon had originally stayed.

“Jon is home!” Sansa cries happily and ignores the shouts of confusion as she makes her way to Jon’s old room. She deposits him on his bed and looks him over. He’s grown into a fine young man since Sansa last saw him. He’s put more muscle on his already strong frame, and his dark curls are as wild as ever. He’s got a scar over his eye, and his black cloak has a dragon sigil instead of a wolf. Sansa wonders what happened to her brother since she last saw him. He was now twenty two. Was he married? Was he happy? Would he accept her story without remembering who she was?

Even Sansa had changed over the years, as much as she hated it. She grew taller by the day it seemed, and she was larger than an eighteen hand horse by a good ten hands. Her legs and her back seemed more muscular than ever, and her teeth had grown sharper, poking out over her lower maw easily. Snaggletooth and all, Sansa would have taken these characteristics over the scales that covered her hands and forearms. The ones on her face grew in patches, and a large amount of them jutted out above her brow. Two stout horns had started growing last year, and they were black as night above her blue eyes. Those, at least, had remained the same as when she was a girl.

Sansa grabbed a cloth and dabbed at Jon’s cut. She’d grazed him with her claws as she tried to get him to come with her. She’d knocked him unconscious, but it had not been a careful enough hit it seemed. She hoped he would forgive her.

Tyrion stood on the edge of the forest line, staring at the mountains of snow. It was summer, and this castle was surrounded by snow and freezing winds. What the hell? Tyrion dismounted his horse and grabbed his battle axe. He patted her side reassuringly even as anxiousness pooled in his gut like sand. Before trudging out into the white, Tyrion swallowed down his fear as best as he could and drew a shaky breath. He followed the path the beast had plowed through the snow and scanned the walls of the castle for defense men with arrows. None appeared to be there. He glanced down at the snow and saw small drops of blood littering the path, confirming he was following the beast and Jon.

He cautiously made his way through the gates, peering around the corners to see who was milling about the courtyard. There was not a soul in sight. Tyrion hesitantly walked forward and toward the left where an open door seemed to lead into a lit hall.

“Hello? I mean no harm, you see. I’m just looking for my friend. He was taken from me,” Tyrion called. He didn’t want to frighten the people that lived here, even if the beast had passed through or worse. He glanced at the suit of armor standing in the corner. A large book along with a teapot and a chipped teacup rested on a table by a fireplace to the right. Tyrion continued into the hall, but he paused when he thought he heard whispered voices. His scar ached with the cold of the area.

He glanced at two large staircases, debating on whether he should even traipse up them when he heard Jon’s voice yelling angrily from the one heading east. He hurried up the stairs, unaware of the quiet chatter.

“Sansa’s gone and bloody done it now,” the teacup groused as it hopped over toward the staircase. Theon was annoyed more than ever. If Sansa’s siblings willingly came here it spelled trouble, and even more so when they were kidnapped.

“Oh, hush. You missed him too, little Theon,” Septa Mordane reprimanded him. The stout teapot waddled over to him as they watched the dwarf hustle up toward the racket.

“I guess that Jon didn’t take well to having his beast of a sister capture him,” Theon rolled his eyes. Septa Mordane hummed thoughtfully.

“Quite. But that dwarf… he might prove useful,” the teapot turned to Maester Luwin. “What do you think, Maester?”

“He could be the one. He has a nasty scar and poor stature. He’d be very likely to look past stereotypes,” the Maester mused. Theon scoffed.

“The beast and a dwarf? Please. Sansa would never hear of it. The years have just made her more unbearable,” Theon hopped off the table and toward the staircase. “I’m going to go watch the show while you fools debate the dwarf’s worth in breaking this damned curse.”

* * *

 

“Where am I? What have you done to me? Where is my sword?” Jon exclaimed. He had backed away from the beast in the unfamiliar room with him as fast as he could when he had woken up. His head was pounding, and his eyes were scanning for possible weapons or escape routes. The beast seemed unperturbed by his actions and took a few steps forward.

“Stay back! I’m warning you!” Jon yelled and held up a hand hoping the beast would stop closing in on him. Surprisingly, it did. Even more surprising was that Tyrion appeared in the doorway with his axe.

With a battle cry, Tyrion lunged at the monster, but the beast merely swatted away his axe with its tail. Tyrion watched as it flew back out of the room.

“Jon! Are you alright?” Tyrion asked as he eyed the beast. It seemed more subdued at the moment despite his attacks.

“For the time being, but I don’t really plan on being supper, and I can’t find my damn sword,” Jon hissed. The beast snorted and sat back on its haunches.

“That’s because I left the blasted thing down in the entry hall, Jon,” the beast said. Its voice was gravelly and pitchy but it was distinctly female. Tyrion and Jon whipped their heads around to stare in shock at it.

“You can speak?” Jon asked, astonishment clear in his voice. The beast bobbed its—her?—head in a nod.

“I really meant you no harm, but I was just so excited to see you again after all this time,” the beast almost chirped. Tyrion noticed its—her, definitely her—tail wagging like a dog’s. He raised an eyebrow at Jon in question. He returned it with a small shake of his head and a shrug. Both had no idea what the monster was talking about.

“I apologize, but I have no idea what or who you are?” Jon said quietly and calmly as he stood from the bed by Tyrion. The beast deflated a bit.

“Oh, well, of course,” she said. “You lost all your memories of me to that wicked witch.”

“Witch?” Tyrion asked. The two men were inching for the door to make a break for it.

“Yes, one night here at Winterfell a witch appeared,” the beast growled. “He froze my parents and sent my siblings away from here without any of their memories. Jon you’re my half-brother.” The beast had looked away whilst speaking, and Jon and Tyrion eyed each other in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry about that, but I just don’t see how I could be related to, well, you!” Jon said before both men dashed from the room and down the stairs. They heard the beast roar in outrage and quickened their pace further. Before they could get to the bottom of the stairs though, the beast had vaulted over them to the bottom snarling, spittle flying.

“You will not leave me again, Jon!” it spit. Tyrion’s mind was racing for possible solutions that didn’t end in their demise. If only he could get Jon out of here.

“We apologize for being, um, skeptical about your tale,” Tyrion tried. The beast growled at him in response, her blue eyes flashing with steely grey anger. “But it is a bit of a stretch to believe! Who even was this witch?”

“Qyburn. Working under orders from the Crown,” she said. She stalked closer, and Tyrion could only think of one plan to get Jon away from here.

“Oh, him! Yes, I met him. He works under my sister, the Queen. I killed our father and deserted the Crown to support Daenerys Stormborn and Jon here. They are attempting to overthrow the throne,” Tyrion swallowed as the beast’s anger ebbed and flowed like the tide. She was still listening, however, so all was not lost.

“You see, Jon must go to Daenerys so they can defeat the Queen, and you can have a form of revenge for her evil plot against your family. They will return when all is through, and Jon will be yours again!” Tyrion said. Jon looked at him in confusion. Tyrion raised his eyebrows as the beast considered his answer, anger subsiding.

“How will I have a guarantee that he will come home?” the beast asked, head tilted to the side in concentration. Tyrion swallowed hard. This was the difficult part, at least for him.

“I am the Hand of Queen Daenerys. If I stay behind with you, then she will most certainly come back to get me,” Tyrion said. “That is my deal. Jon will leave, and I will stay.”

“Tyrion!” Jon hissed. Tyrion smacked his leg and glared. He had made up his mind to see this through. Jon quieted and looked pained at the idea of Tyrion sacrificing himself for Jon. While they were having their silent conversation the beast was mulling over Tyrion’s deal, eyes squinted in an animalistic observing way.

Cersei would be defeated. That was half of the requirement to break the curse, and the other…well, she could only hope somehow she’d figure that out. Sansa sighed, but accepted that this would be the best plan of action.

“Alright,” she said. Both men turned to look at her. “I agree to your deal.”

* * *

 

Tyrion watched as Jon road off back to Winter’s Edge on Tyrion’s mare. They had said their goodbyes and made promises to see each other again. Tyrion was not planning on being stuck here very long. He’d find a way to escape. He had escaped much worse fates before.

He turned and found the beast staring after Jon. Her eyes seemed almost sad, but the patches of scale, the two black horns, and great large maws made it difficult to tell if she was sad or longing. She just looked ferocious.

“What was your name, before everything happened?” Tyrion asked, realizing he couldn’t just keep calling her a beast. She huffed out a cold breath.

“Sansa. My name was Sansa,” she said. She looked over at him, and Tyrion was struck with how human her eyes looked. He tried to manage a crooked smile.

“Well, Lady Sansa,” he started, “it is a pleasure to be in your care.”

Sansa’s lips curled into a fearsome sneer, and her blue eyes hardened into silver steel with rage. Tyrion swallowed back the cold rush of fear, hoping he hadn’t miscalculated with his plan and just confirmed his own death.

“I am not a _lady_ ,” Sansa’s voice scraped like a rockslide in her anger. “I am a beast.” She turned and stalked back into the castle, leaving Tyrion sighing in relief at still being alive. He caught his breath and looked after the swish of dark fabric as it disappeared inside. He couldn’t argue that he wasn’t slightly curious about his captor, but that was not important. He needed to escape.


	4. A Few Familiar Faces

Jon was not a coward. He took pride in being brave, but he was currently avoiding Daenerys. Her wrath, specifically. After the discovery Jorah’s betrayal, Jon had witnessed Daenerys’s anger and did not exactly desire to be exiled or punished the ways she saw fit. He loved Daenerys, he really did, but her temper was a fickle thing.

To say the least, she had not liked the fact her Hand was a hostage. Jon had persuaded her not to use her dragons to get him back, enraging her with the fact that the woods were too thick so they would probably end up killing Tyrion in an attempt to rescue him. Daenerys had seethed about the dilemma and demanded dothraki be led to the castle to free Tyrion.

This mission returned a week after being sent out into the woodland area, no sign of the castle in any direction. The dothraki were nervous about chasing a phantom castle, evil spirits and all that deterred them from continuing the search. The Unsullied were searching the woods constantly.

With all of the failure to locate her Hand, Daenerys was a pot ready to boil over. Even though she understood Tyrion’s rationale, she was still bitterly angry at Jon. So Jon had taken to sleeping in different offices every night interspersed with the occasional barn. It wasn’t so bad. He’d had worse.

Three weeks seemed to be Daenerys’s limit. She had joined the excursions a few times, but with no luck. She decided to wait and see if her Hand could develop a strategy for escape. She would prepare battle plans for when Robb of Dorne arrived with his forces. She’d allowed Jon’s presence in her rooms—not theirs at the moment because he was still sleeping on a chaise—and in her meetings. Her heated glares started withering until they were simply scowls. Daenerys could be so stubborn, but when she saw she was in the wrong, she would forgive.

But Jon was not a coward.

* * *

 Tyrion was beyond stupefied the first time he saw the little teacup hopping up and down the stairs, muttering insults and annoyances as it went. Sansa had told him that her household staff had been cursed into being animated objects, but it baffled him still.

When he plucked the little squirming cup from its ascent, it had started cursing him immediately.

“Let me down, you fucking buffoon! I can manage on my own, dammit!” the vehemence with which the teacup talked was a bit laughable for his dainty size and make. Tyrion had set the teacup down and watched it fume away.

His second encounter had been with the walking suit of armor. The armor had been carrying a tray of food to his room, or cell—however you wanted to look at it. He had thanked it, and learned that its name was Brienne of Tarth, a sworn sword to the Starks. She was blunt and easily embarrassed, but Tyrion enjoyed her gruff company at meal times.

He spent much of his first week wandering his wing of the castle. He had free range, but had been warned not to try and escape. So he stuck to the East Wing. When he wasn’t wandering through empty rooms or stairwells, Tyrion was scheming. He needed to figure a way out. But how?

* * *

 “Lady Sansa! You’re being quite the terrible host!” Septa Mordane steamed. She and Theon were bringing Sansa her afternoon tea, seeing as they were the tea set. Sansa rolled her massive shoulders and huffed. She was hunched over a bit of sewing. She could generally sew for about two hours a day until her large hands cramped from holding such tiny needles. She had been working on a new pair of trousers and a tunic for weeks. It would have taken the young girl a few days before…well, the curse.

“If he is ever going to fall in love with you then you  _must_  treat him better!” Septa Mordane hissed. A high pitched whistle left her as she huffed. Sansa whirled around, blue eyes the color of Tully river water with Stark steel hardening them in anger.

“Fall in love with  _me_?” Sansa roared. Septa Mordane didn’t shy away from Sansa’s temper. Years alone with only her servants—some of whom resented her for their unfortunate states—had only heightened her temper. Sansa had lost much of her girlish dreams and innocence. She no longer dreamed of lovely knights and castles by the sea. She had been stupid to only focus on being a lady and had taken her family for granted.

Sansa had learned many things as her time as a beast. Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin refreshed her every so often on manners and skills a great lady would need. Sansa listened and recited houses and words and other bits of information that might prove useful if she ever was to return to being human. It gave them all a small surge of hope to continue the lessons.  But Sansa, had learned to care for her castle in her servants’ stead. The objects had a hard time with many of the chores, and Sansa would scurry about keeping herself busy with nothing else to attend to.

She had learned to cook well enough with her kitchen staff’s help. Her large hands were clumsy with delicate tasks. She was quick with cleaning and upkeep of the stables and forgery. She repaired what parts of the castle gave way to decay with help from Mikken and Measter Luwin’s instructions. Breinne had helped her practice her reflexes should there ever be a need to defend their home, and for hunting of course.

Sansa had also learned to take care of flowers and the godswood area by the warm pools. They were more challenging due to the climate than the rose bushes in the glass gardens that she tended as well. Sansa had a beautiful garden of flowers growing in the glass gardens and in the godswood. Galanthuses, cyclamen, and hellebores clustered around the weirwood tree. Witch hazel, winter aconites, and early scilla gave the warm pools a sunny disposition, and winter cabbages, dwarf irises, and crocuses sprung up in patches along the path snaking from the castle to the pools. Sansa cared for her plants exponentially. They were the ones she could control, and it took her mind off the one little flower slowly dying in her solar.

“How would he  _ever_  come to love me?” Sansa growled. She threw her sewing down on the chaise as she stood. She glared down Septa Mordane and Theon. “A beast! Not a woman!”

“Yes, my lady,” Theon sighed. He added the honorific sarcastically. He glared at her. “How  _ever_ shall he fall for you when you present yourself so well? A roaring ferocious temper-tantrum prone monster. It should be easy!”

Sansa grabbed the little teacup and snarled in his face.

“You think I am not aware of how awful I am, Theon? I could shatter you easily,” Sansa spat. Theon glared her down.

“But you won’t,” he said. His tone brokered no argument and he continued on, “You may be able to kill stags and squirrels, but not people. Even one stuck as a teacup. Because you are not the beast you say you are, Sansa.”

“No I am not!” she looked down at the floor. If she had still been a girl, her cheeks would be aflame with shame.

“Yes, you are. You are kind and generous by nature. You carry us anywhere we ask you to. You let the Hound roam free. You read to the young children stuck here. You tend to almost all the chores by yourself so we may have it easier. But dammit you like to pretend to be evil and as ugly on the inside as out when you are not!” Theon crowed. Sansa glanced at him in her hand. She let him rest in her open palm instead of squeezed in her fist.

“You used to be so charming. I teased you, and you took it graciously until we went too far. And when you fought back you were glorious! What happened to that fiery girl? Why are you giving up now?” Theon asked. The silence stretched on for so long that Theon did not expect an answer.

“Because I hate how I was so powerless back then. How foolish. How I could not protect Mother or Father or any of my siblings. I could not do anything,” Sansa whined. Her voice taking on a more feral note when she was on the brink of tears. “Because I am a beast.”

“Sansa,” Theon sighed. He felt much like an exasperated father when she was like this. They had had conversations like this before when her temper had gotten out of hand. “You need to try. If not for yourself, then for us.” She looked at him with red rimmed eyes. It was an awful sight on her furry and scaly face. She nodded and bumped her nose affectionately against where he supposed his cheek was.

“I shall try.”

* * *

 A girl continued to scrub the floor of the House of Black and White in the flickering candlelight. Her short ruddy brown hair tied out of her face. A man approached her. His dirty grey robe shuffled on the tiles, and she looked up to see a man with fire-red hair with a white streak in it.

“Who are you?” a man asked. A girl put her scrub brush back in the wooden bucket filled with water.

“No one,” she said quietly. She continued scrubbing. A man did not leave her be.

“A girl must be someone for a time,” a man said. She looked up at him again and cocked her head to the left.

“Does the Many-Faced God need a girl to take a name?” she stood and faced him, smoothing out her brown skirt and the white apron on top. He nodded.

“A girl must kill a witch across the sea,” he said. He folded his arms in his long sleeves. “A man by the name of Qyburn. A girl will find him in King’s Landing working for the Queen.”

“An important name. Who shall a girl be?” she blinked. A man quirked his lips.

“Someone long forgotten to the living, but not to the Many-Faced God.”

* * *

 Tyrion was bored. He had looked at every nook and cranny in his little tower, and had not found one secret passage or entryway. He did not have permission to search for a library or venture outside. He was so bored just sitting in front of his little fireplace. He was just dozing off when a knock shocked him awake. He had twitched so hard he had fallen to the floor in a heap of quilts and curses.

“C-come in,” he called after he had extracted himself from the tangle of cloth on the floor. He smoothed down his curls but knew it was a futile effort. When the door opened wide and massive furry shoulders appeared, Tyrion wished he had been content being bored. Whatever could the beast want with him?

“Good evening, my lord,” the beast grumbled, head bowed. She bobbed in an awkward shuffle that Tyrion believed to be an attempt at a curtsy.

“And a good evening to you, my lady,” he replied curtly. His suspicion had left him on edge. Sansa looked up at him, and again Tyrion was intrigued in the blue pools that showed her vulnerability and humanness.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior. You are under my care for the time being, and I have been nothing but rude,” her voice grated on his ears in a peculiar way. It reminded him of birdsong and wolves’ howls.

Tyrion quirked his lips in what he hoped was an impish grin. “Considering the circumstances, I do believe it is quite alright.” Sansa snuffled unhappily.

“No, my lord, it is not. I do not mean to make you a prisoner in anything but name. Please, is there anything you require to make your stay in Winterfell more comfortable?” Sansa looked away from him. Her tail was tucked close to her legs and Tyrion found it odd how small it made her look when she was so large. He squinted at her in thought, wondering if this was a trap. He decided a beast probably would not set traps when her strength was so great.

“If it please you, my lady. I am with nothing to attend to. I was perhaps wondering if I might see the library for I do enjoy to read,” he said. Sansa looked at him in what he thought was delight.

“Of course, my lord! Please if you will walk with me, I will show you to our library,” Sansa said before turning towards the door. Tyrion followed two steps behind her at her left as she guided him through the castle. He wasn’t sure what brought on her change of mood. When they reached a pair of rich wooden doors, Sansa turned to him and bared her sharp, sharp teeth. Tyrion paled for a moment, but came to the realization that she was attempting to smile. Sansa hurriedly closed off her expression when she noticed his fear. She opened the doors.

“The library, my lord,” she said as she stepped inside. The room was warm with candlelight and musty with the smell of paper and wisdom. Tyrion felt awed at the levels and different bookshelves. “We have quite the collection.”

“Indeed,” he breathed as he walked further into the room. To the right there was a fireplace with two large puffy green arm chairs and two small tables with candles beside them. To the left, a small staircase led to the upper level in an elegant curve. “Thank you, my lady.”

“It was no trouble. If I may ask of you one small thing in return?” she ventured. Tyrion turned to look at this odd beast.

“Would you mind joining me for dinner tonight?” she asked him. Her blue eyes were shuttered with grey in the light, hard and unfeeling, but Tyrion looked to her tail to see it swishing slightly as it hid behind one of her hindlegs. She was nervous it seemed. Nervous about what?

“Of course, my lady,” he said. Her eyes remained that same shade of steel as she nodded and turned to take her leave. On her way out, however, her tail was wagging happily behind her. Tyrion stifled a chuckle. Her features may be hard to read and her eyes lying, but her tail seemed to relay her emotions quite well.

* * *

 

Dinner… is interesting to say the least. The room he is escorted to by the bouncing little teacup is smaller than he would expect. The large wooden table that sits in the middle had no fancy tablecloth, and large windows with glass betray the hour of the day. It is almost dusk, and the light blue hues that seep into the room make the candles less intimate.

Tyrion was sat at one end of the table, an exquisitely decorated candelabra placed before him. His dishes were finely made, but he eyed the silverware warily. He wasn’t very fond of the idea of using a living fork or spoon to eat.

“Good evening, small sir!” a cheery voice called. Tyrion looked around the room for the source of the voice. He found the candelabra waving enthusiastically at him before bowing deeply.

“My name is Syrio Forel. I am happy to welcome you to our table for the evening!” the warm accent seemed to twist and roll in the air. Tyrion nodded his greetings as the candelabra hopped closer.

“How are you liking your stay? If I was still a man, small sir, I would have invited you to a duel or a billiards competition before offering you our finest ale!” he chirped. Tyrion huffed a bemused laugh.

“I’m more comfortable here than I hoped, Ser Forel. May I ask whereabouts are you from? I’m not especially good at placing accents,” Tyrion said. He noticed the decanter by him and poured himself a generous cup of wine.

“Braavos, small sir! I was the First Sword and was hired as a dancing teacher for one of the younger children here,” he stabbed at the air with one arm, mimicking a fencing motion. He was quite energetic.

“I see. So you were a formidable force,” Tyrion sipped his wine. Syrio continued his huffing and thrusting, his flames flickering with the motion before he turned to face Tyrion swiftly, one candle-ended arm pointed at him. Hot wax dropped to the table.

“I am still a formidable force, small sir. If any threat came to the beastly lady of Winterfell, I could think of many different ways to see its end,” his warm voice took off some of the sharpness of his words. Tyrion laughed.

“I pose no threat to the lady. I am about a quarter of her height and without sharp claws or teeth,” he quipped. Syrio crossed his arms behind him.

“I would still be able to show you the many ways I could kill you, small sir,” he said. He smirked. “But for the time being, please, be our guest.”

* * *

 

Tyrion wakes the next morning with frozen feet and his breath puffing out in small clouds in front of him. He had fallen asleep in one of the chairs in the library the night before, fire roaring and the room cozy warm. Now Tyrion shivers as he rolls his stiff neck. He notices the furs that cover his legs and quirks a questioning eyebrow at them.

Tyrion remembers sharing a warm meal with Sansa after his conversation with Syrio. The atmosphere had been awkward while Sansa struggled with the silverware in her massive paws. She ended up throwing the utensil down angrily before scooping up her plate and downing the food in one huge gulp. She growled before realizing herself and had seemed to shrink her seat. Tyrion sipped his wine to hide his amusement at her embarrassment. They didn’t speak much. They had nothing to talk about, but she walked him back to the library and left him to his own devices for the night. Or so it had seemed. He had a hunch that she had been the one to cover him with furs sometime during the night.

Tyrion folded them over the chair and shuffled off to find the privy and rustle up some breakfast. He’d start making his plan of escape today, and by tomorrow, he’d be free…or dead as Syrio had so kindly said last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews and kudos! I'm heading off to college soon so hopefully I'll get another chapter posted before I leave but posting will be more sporadic I'm sorry to say.


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